The Reason
by Victoria Breckon
Summary: David Karofsky had made a mistake.  A pretty big one, for that matter.  But he had told them over and over again that he realized the size of his mistake and would never try it again.
1. I'm Not A Perfect Person

David Karofsky had made a mistake. A pretty big one, for that matter.

But he had told them over and over again that he realized the size of his mistake and would never try it again.

"How can we know that you're never going to try any of this… this… _harmful _type of thing to yourself again? Do you even realize how terrified we both were?" His mother had choked out in a teary frenzy.

"Of course, and I've told you—"

"You scared the hell out of your mom and me, David! This isn't just going to go away!"

"I know, but—"

"No buts! You obviously have some problems, David James Karofsky, and all we want to do is to help you."

"Mom, I—"

"We've talked with Reverend Arnolds, and I've been meeting with him personally." His mother began in a quiet hint of a whisper. "This… _disease_ you have isn't one they can fix with medicine. But, with the power of God and the power of his faithful disciples, he said we'll be able to help you."

"Linda—"Paul Karofsky began, placing a hand on her shoulder and shooting Dave a sympathetic look.

"This isn't something that's just going to _go away!" _Dave cried, bring a meaty fist down on the table so that that the silver cutlery danced with the porcelain plates. "I'm finally beginning to accept myself, and you think that you can just _pray _the _gay_ away? No!" He stood up and shoved his chair away from him, as if it was some vile thing that had personally insulted him. It was his mother.

"David, you are _not_ going up to that room of yours!" His mother exclaimed as fresh tears leaked down her fair cheeks.

"Why, 'cause the devil's up there?" He shot back, his eyebrows forming a forty five degree angle, creasing his face with emotions of anger, guilt, and resentment.

"Young man, you watch your tongue." Paul called out, slowly walking over to his son. He clapped a strong hand on his shoulder. "Now, come on, try and calm down, let's finish your supper, and then you can go to bed, yes?"

"Yes." Dave replied, releasing a gust of breath he had not known he had been holding.

"Yes _what_, David?" His mother asked him, sweeping her bleached locks across her forehead with a stern glance of motherly command.

"Yes, _sir_."

He just wanted to be alone.

Dave trudged up the stairs after supper and entered the restroom. He grabbed the timer that sat on the counter and pushed 'start'. With a tiny beep, the digital numbers began to race at an infinite speed. Ever since _the incident_, his parents insisted that his showers be limited to ten minutes. "Drowning is not acceptable." He had heard his mother whisper to Reverend Arnolds. When he was done and had some type of clothes on, the door was to remain open as he finished his nightly before-bed ritual. When that was done, he was to tell them both a proper goodnight and participate in a half hour prayer session, which included reading portions of the bible and praying as a family for Dave's condition to be healed. At precisely 9:15 PM he was to go to sleep, though the hall light was to remain on, where his parents took turns cycling the hallway, making sure he was asleep. He was constantly being watched, constantly being monitored, constantly being limited from freedom.

Dave entered his bedroom and wanted nothing more than to slam the door. He went to reach for the doorknob, but never found it: his door had been removed. There was now a gaping hole in the wall of his bedroom, one that let in worried stares, confronting words, and a constant, bubbling worry. In a frenzied fit of worry, his mother had bought and installed security cameras for _every_ room in the house.

He wasn't dumb. He knew why they were doing this. He could feel their prolonged eyes lingering on him when they passed in the hall, or how he was only allowed in his bedroom to sleep and get dressed.

He hated it. He hated the feeling of being on watch 24-7, like some type of criminal, like some kind of caged beast.

The limitations were the worst. After school, he was to wait for his mother to pick him up. He would have to relinquish his cell phone, where _every single message_ was examined with judging eyes. His phone time was monitored to an hour every day. If he were to want to go out, he would have to tell his parents with whom he was going, where he was going, who would all be there, and what they would be doing. The person he was to go out with would have to undergo a harsh interrogation of similar questions. If they "passed", Dave was allowed to go.

One evening, Kurt and Blaine paid the Karofskys a visit. Dave stood like a little kid next to his mother as she once again began her round of questions. He clasped his hands together underneath his belt, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot, leg to leg, side to side.

"And where do you intend to take David?" Linda asked with a sharp tone.

"Well, we were planning on going to The Lima Bean and grab some lattes, and then head to that little jazz record store Blaine turned me on to." Kurt smiled politely as Blaine clapped his shoulder.

"Yes, Mrs. Karofsky, we were planning on just listening to some music and hanging out." Blaine added, flashing a dazzling smile.

Linda presented the boys with an upside down smile. "David doesn't like jazz." She said in a tone that suggested finality.

"Well, then we could always go to—"

"No, no, it's clear your plans could change at any second, just like my son's decision to be gay _came out_ of the blue. Good evening." With that the door was shut with a rough slam. Linda turned to face her son, whose face was casting a million different emotions. His cheeks were inflated with isolated breath. His eyes were round with shock. His eyebrows were slouched curves of hurt.

"You will thank me later."

"How can I _thank_ you?" David exclaimed, stuffing his hands angrily in his pockets. "You just turned away some of the only people I call my friends!"

Linda made a low noise in her throat that sounded like a scoff. "You call them your friends? I call them sinners. How you could choose to be like them, David, I haven't the slightest idea. It disappoints me tremendously." She brushed passed him, leaving him in the foyer like a child's forgotten toy.

He was forgotten.

Pressures began to build up in his head like they never had before. Things that his parents thought were helping him were actually harming him. David began to crave solitude. In a twist of reverse psychology, he began to lounge for hours on the couch, casually changing channels and sighing with bursts of energy. Maybe, just maybe, if he kept this up, his parents would push him to go out, to get out with some other people, to begin to repair his life that had broken so greatly.

He had no such luck.

Paul Karofsky entered his son's room at 7:00 AM on Friday morning. He watched silently as his son's chest rose and fell with soft snores. David was smiling, though it was easy to miss if you weren't looking for it.

These days, it was all Frank wanted: to see his boy smile. He wanted to see the little boy he had raised to be respectful to adults and authority, the little boy who was a promising wide receiver, the handsome little boy that was nice to everyone and was all the rage with the elderly women at Sunday morning mass.

He placed a hand on his cheek and smiled sadly, knowing that it would be a while before he would see that boy again.

"David, David, wake up." Paul nudged his son's shoulder with his palm, watching as he first struggled before opening bleary eyes, seeming to calm down at the sight of his father.

"What—?"

"It's time for you to get up and start getting ready for school."

Dave sat up in a rough panic, his eyes growing into balls of worry. "But, dad, you know what those guys are going to say— I—I can't go back there!"

Paul sighed, patting his son's shoulder to calm him. "Yes, you do. It's been two weeks, son. You're a fighter, David, and you will pull through this."

"No, dad, I—I can't!" David's voice was quick and rough, like an animal trying to escape the clutches of a predator. He was absolutely terrified of returning to a place where his friends had already been numbered. Now they were cut in half, if he even had any remaining. He couldn't go back to football practice. He couldn't walk the halls without ridicule, lingering stares, or vulgar remarks. David would rather do anything in the world than return to _that_ school.

Paul registered the dread that was digging holes in his son's eyes. He bit his lip and turned to look out the hallway. "Listen, son—"he began, sitting on the edge of his bed. "Your mother's already left for work. I'll give you fifteen extra minutes in the shower today, and we'll talk about this when you're done, huh?"

Dave looked around his room, his eyes focusing on anything but his father. He nodded quickly, doing anything to avoid his father's questioning, confused stare. He soon felt the weight being lifted off of his bed and watched his father exit the room.

It was a quiet ride on the way to school. It was a type of quiet that filled your insides with live spiders, unleashing them in your organs and your limbs. You could feel them crawling around, creating pleasure out of paining you from the inside out. They would crawl around in an anxious fury until your skin was bubbling with nerves.

Paul's maroon pickup truck pulled up to Olsen High School and with a near sigh, the engine was killed. He turned toward his son, who was sitting with a straight spine, looking ahead, his eyes darting around for a sign of a familiar, scary face.

"Wait after school for a white Focus." Paul murmured, slipping him a twenty. "Blaine and Kurt will pick you up at precisely 3:45." David's mouth opened with a slight awe, wondering if he was in reality and not simply still asleep in his room. "You're to go to nowhere but The Lima Bean and possibly Kurt's house."

Dave opened his mouth to ask his father a question, yet Paul beat him to the opportunity. "Your mom is working late tonight. Tell Kurt you are to be home by 7:30 because your mother will be home by eight. Don't have too much to eat; she will expect you to have a hardy appetite for supper."

Dave stared at his father with disbelief. He opened his mouth to say something, yet only air escaped. Frank nodded, smiling slightly as he clapped his son on the shoulder. "Now, you get in there and stand tall and proud, son. It's not going to be easy."

"Nobody said it was easy." The radio announcer exclaimed with false peppiness. "By Coldplay. And now on to _blah blah blah_."

David smiled with a sense of nervousness before nodding to his father's polite stare. "Thanks, dad." He managed to say before slamming the door of his car, entering a world of unknown possibilities.

"He doesn't _look_ gay."

"He would have been better off dead."

"He's only on the football team so he can watch his boyfriends run after each other in tight pants. He'd get a good view as wide receiver. So much _contact_."

David walked down the hallway towards his next class, his eyes glued to the floor, the only thought in his head which way he would have to walk to get to his next class. He stuffed one nervous hand in his pocket, fidgeting with his keys and ID card. He suddenly ran into something hard and bulky. His eyes squeezed shut as he made contact, bouncing backwards. "Hey, Karofsky."

He looked up into the eyes of Michael Skeet, AKA the senior quarterback for the Olsen Originals. A mean sneer was stretched across his tanned face. A group of guys stood behind him, solemn masks worn over their faces. They formed a triangle; Michael was at the point.

"H-Hey." Dave replied, rolling his shoulders back, standing taller. What did these guys want? They had already made his life a living hell.

"Heard you like dick, now." A wicked grin smeared over his features and the group of jocks chuckled dumbly.

Dave didn't have a comeback and simply stood there, shifting his jaw. Finally, he spoke. "What do you want? I have to get to class."

"What do _you_ want? Well, I'm sure _you_ want to go mess around with some guys in the bathroom, but—"

"Yeah, I'm sure Mr. Clearwater is _wide_ open!"

"Haha, fag!"

David looked around as if someone would step out of the mass of students and stop this tormenting. He needed a guardian angel, someone to rescue him from his own personal hell.

"Aww, look at our little homo, searching for his boyfriend."

"Or just someone to blow him."

A fresh wave of laughter hit Dave like a tidal wave. The boys were circling around him; some were cracking their fists menacingly, some were merely smiling with violent intentions, and some had blank stares of cruelness. Dave's emotions were rising within him until they were cresting, reaching the top, until they felt like they could shoot out of his ears and burn everyone in sight.

"Shit, just kill yourself already!"

"Yeah, little engine that could! You thought you could, you thought you could, you thought you could."

"Shut up!" David yelled in a rough, broken voice that sounded like a bad radio signal. It was scratchy and clear, loud and soft, searing and seething. It was the first time he had properly used his voice in public in almost a month.

"Just do it already, Mike!"

Mike did. And Dave screamed with pain.

David let the water fall on him as he continued to scrub his face. He splashed warm water over his skin that was inflamed from rubbing and irritation from the #59 dye. His face, neck, and hair were sticky from the slushie that had struck him without mercy.

The bell rang, signaling the end of school. He had made up his mind. David Karofsky could no longer go to Olsen High School. He couldn't possibly go to West McKinley.

He would have to go somewhere else.

"I take it your day wasn't exactly good."

Dave stared down at his coffee, his chest dipping down with a heavy sigh. He felt as if he were to say anything, he would burst into stupid, confined tears.

"You've had better." Blaine answered for him, smiling softly. "Been there."

"Mmm, I second that." Kurt piped in quietly.

Dave sipped his black coffee, meeting the curious gazes of his only friends: Kurt and Blaine. "I… I can't go back there." He emitted in a low whisper. It was then that David began to explain about his day, the terrible, behind-his-back words, the slushie incident, and the feeling of not belonging anywhere. Kurt and Blaine listened with sympathetic faces and responses. They gave him hope. They were there when no one else was. They were committed to helping him through this rough phase in his life, despite the rough course of action he had taken against them a year ago.

They were his friends.

"Well, David, Kurt and I've been thinking…" Blaine began, staring at his boyfriend and putting his hand on top of his. "We know of some place you could go to school. A safe place. A place with a zero-bullying policy."

If it wasn't for the terrible circumstances under which they were discussing this, Kurt would have found the irony delicious, like a bad pun in a romantic comedy.

"Dalton Academy has a 100% anti-bullying policy." Kurt continued, resting one hand on Dave's shaking ones. "And, they have scholarship programs if you need."

Blaine nodded. "Yes, Dalton Academy is a great school and helped Kurt and I immensely when we were dealing with… Well, issues at our other schools." Dave bit his lip brutally. He had been the cause of Kurt's unhappiness. And now he was dealing with the same pain his former victim had been dealing with.

"Kurt, I'm—"

"We've already discussed this, Dave. I know you're sorry. You know I already accepted that."

"Yeah," Blaine agreed, sipping his Medium Drip. "I'm not here to point fingers. I think Kurt and I would both agree that we're here to support you in whatever decision you make, but we both agree that your current situation is simply not suitable nor helpful for you."

David nodded, his lips trembling.

"Dalton… Dalton helped me in a very dark time." Blaine mentioned, trying to connect with Dave on a personal level. "And I really think it would help you, as well. At least… Maybe this weekend we can go up and visit. The Warblers are having a benefit concert on Saturday. Would you like to come with us?"

Kurt nodded excitedly, a smile spreading across his glowing, porcelain features.

"My mom is out of town this weekend…" David began, thinking it over slowly. "I'd have to ask my dad, but he's been a little less lenient on me. I'll… I'll ask."

"Great!" Blaine exclaimed, nodding as if to settle the subject. "Now, let's go hit that sale at Macy's, Kurt. And don't give me that face, they have designer brands there if you look hard enough. Besides, I'm on a budget."

David had actually _had_ a good time going shopping with Kurt and Blaine. They had even recommended a chocolate suit instead of a black one for his next formal occasion, and had helped him find a suit jacket that properly fit him. He had laughed for the first time in a month, and it was only as they pulled him up to his driveway that he realized he had _enjoyed_ himself.

"Kurt, Blaine… It was a great evening. It was fun. I haven't that in a while." Dave leaned forward from the backseat to be heard. "…Thank you."

A huge smile smeared across Blaine's face, and a watery one smudged Kurt's flawless complexion. "Any time!" Blaine told him, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Feel free to text us any time." Kurt told him, smiling at him in the rear view mirror.

"I will." David told them, exiting the car and nodding goodbye. He stood on his front porch, watching the happy couple exchange a quick kiss before backing out. They were suddenly gone.

And that's when it hit him.

He was going to end up like Kurt and Blaine. He was going to be happy.

He was going to Dalton Academy School for Boys.


	2. There's Many Things I Wish I Didn't Do

"Mom, Dad, I want to go to Dalton Academy for the last half of my senior year."

If words could literally grab somebody by the throat and squeeze without mercy, these words could. Linda Karofsky dropped her fork, caught her breath, and formed a straight line with her thin lips. A clatter of cutlery against the wooden table was the opening note to what would be an argument filled with resentment, anger, and parental worry.

Everything was said at once. Words began to topple over one another in an endless game of leap frog. Sentences were wrestling, fighting for dominance.

"Absolutely not, David!"

"It's an _all-boys school_. We might as well just stamp 'sinner' across your forehead!"

"This is so sudden…"

"Are you not able to handle six more months at Olsen?"

"Why the change of heart?"

"We don't have that kind of money!"

"I bet his homo 'friends' talked him into this. This is a way the devil is working through him. I'll call Reverend Arnolds."

Linda's oval, shocked eyes met Paul's, jerking her head towards the kitchen. He nodded and the two adults entered the kitchen, leaving David Karofsky sitting alone at the dining room table.

He removed his napkin from his lap and threw it on the ground with a burst of angry energy. He wanted nothing more than to throw his plate, loaded fully with stocked ammunition of untouched, swirled-around food, at the wall, and watch as the milky porcelain mixed with a rainbow of tastes and textures. He wanted to grab his mother's keys and run to their bedroom closet, where he could unlock his phone and text his friends for advice on how to handle his parent's reactions. He had half a mind to grab his coat and take off in the pickup, where he could reach the safety and promise of the Hummel residence.

Instead, Dave sat there, swirling his food around with his fork, sighing.

Why did he have to feel so _stupid_ for expressing what he wanted? Why did he feel so spineless for asking for help, for asking for a way out, from the people he thought he could trust? And why did he have to feel humiliated for simply being himself?

He wouldn't. David James Karofsky wouldn't stand for this. Why _should_ he have to feel this way, huh? Why was he letting people walk all over him, step in his way, make his decisions _for_ him? He was perfectly capable of making correct decisions for himself. Who told people what was right for them, anyways? Why was he letting someone control his every move? He was not simply a pawn to be moved in a game of chance. This was his life, and he was going to take control of it.

David began to bore holes into the wooden door with his eyes, perking his ears to try and catch bits and pieces of what his parents were saying.

"He's eighteen, Linda, he has a right to express himself."

"… We are his parents for a reason! We are to lead…"

"… and if that's who he is…"

"… I had heard horror stories…"

"…I just never thought it would happen to us."

Hot, angry tears filled David's green eyes. He tried to brush them away, and instead caught a glimpse of the inflamed skin on the inside of his elbow where his IV had been. He touched it softly, marveling at the coolness the pad of his thumb seemed to give it.

So this was the answer.

It was because of this, his stupid decision, his cry for help, that he would never receive his parent's acceptance or permission. It was because of him that he was going to live in misery until the end of the school year. His problems, Dave realized, were all due to his truly—himself. He had brought this on himself. He had killed his only chance of doing something with his life, and right along with that he had almost killed himself.

This fact only made Dave want to do whatever it took to end his life.

Then again, he thought, something would have had to happen sooner or later. He had been miserable. It was true, as his dad had pointed out to Principle Figgins, that he had certainly not been acting himself. David has resulted in nothing but pain, anger, guilt, and anxiety. Something would have slipped, and suddenly David's façade would be down, the spell broken, the secret out. If he hadn't of taken drastic measures, somebody else would have.

So why was he to continue living his life like this, without a chance, without a way out? What was _he _going to do about it? David stood up and eased himself towards the kitchen door, readying himself to stand up to his parents and tell them what he wanted, what he desperately _needed_.

Instead, he was met with an open door and two solemn faces.

"David. Sit."

David nodded, ducking with his chin as he hastily picked up his napkin, smoothing it over his lap. He crossed his legs nervously, then uncrossed them, catching his mother sneering down her nose at his newly-acquired habit.

"Your mother and I have been talking," Paul began, running a hand through his gray, sandpaper hair. "And we haven't come to a conclusion, yet. There are… There are many things to think about, David."

"Yes," Linda added, smiling sadly. "We are going to pray over this situation and leave the final decision up to your Father."

Dave looked hopefully towards his dad, knowing that he would see his ways more than his mother. Linda smiled softly, her abnormally large eyes growing with a small sense of pleasure. "Your heavenly father, Dave." A false smile spread across his large features, and she bowed her head. "Now, go upstairs and be down in fifteen. You know the drill."

He nodded dumbly, crinkling his nose slightly like he always did when he was angry.

The next evening he tried again. "Dad, mom—"He began, setting his cutlery down and straightening his spine. "There is a singing group at the Dalton Academy School for Boys called the Warblers. They're going to be performing at this charity event they're holding at their school, and I was wondering if, well…"

"If you could go." It wasn't a question, though his mother's voice rose as the pause came to an end.

"It would be a perfect opportunity to check out the school." Paul agreed, giving his son the briefest of looks. Was that a smile he had just given him?

"And how did you find out about this?"

"Well, I—"

"I told him about it." Paul mentioned, watching as his wife's eyebrows dipped with a sense of relaxation. "I read about it in the paper."

He was met with the same answer.

David's school situation slowly grew worse.

It wasn't even because he actually found his lessons interesting, simply because it gave his mind a place to escape from his personal drama. It was the stares, the whispers, the catcalls, the jeers, the either dubious or senseless teachers.

It seemed like no one was on his side.

He was fighting a lost cause.

David Karofsky was lost, and he had no idea how to get home.

When the bell rang for lunch, he was the first one out of the classroom and the last one to find a seat in the cafeteria. He would take prolonged journeys to his locker, check to make sure the men's room was empty before using it, and occasionally walk by the choir room to hear the special groups rehearsing. Finally, with half of the lunch period wasted, he would walk into the cafeteria, make a mad dash through the small line of stragglers still buying food, and would sit at an empty, secluded table. It was the perfect plan for the invisible man. Or at least for the man who strived to be invisible.

Dave, tray in hand, made his way to the end of an almost empty table. Sitting down, he began to eat, not necessarily enjoying it. Stares and words were still exchanged during the lunch hour. He glanced out of the open window, where a bright sky was blinding against the white, glimmering snow.

And then the sky went black.

Mike's black shirt temporarily blocked the light from Dave's view. "Why, if it isn't the little homo."

Dave's insides did a few somersaults, twisting and turning and writhing with electric nerves. They were shooting at him, burning him, raising his energy and instincts and body temperature.

"What do you want, Skeet?"

"Oh, nothing. I just want to let everything _sink _in. You know, how you're a filthy little homo, how your life sucks, and how you tried to kill yourself. You must feel pretty classy, huh? Pretty cool, Dave? I bet your parents are so proud of you. I mean, why have a straight son who can bring home the perfect wife and give them grandchildren when you can settle for a piece of absolute shit, a fag, who brings home nothing but a loser love toy and STDs?" A sickening smirk filled the bully's face as he laughed. It was a dark, wicked sound that seemed to echo against the drab, high school walls. On the inside, David's face began to crumple, forming a facial fist. He had to be stone. He couldn't let this type of insecurity show, this type of insufficiency.

"So, is it all sinking in?" Mike asked again, chuckling softly. "If not, it sure will. Now!"

A group of guys came up behind Dave Karofsky and dumped a bowl of lukewarm, brown liquid on him. Chucks of carrots, pencil shavings, Styrofoam cups, and various other _unknowns_ flowed from the bowl and onto an unsuspecting Dave. What had once been the school's vegetable soup, now tampered with unidentifiable objects, seeped into his hair, his mouth, his clothes. Everything was definitely _sinking_ in.

The guys began to laugh, and soon the entire cafeteria was bouncing with an energy. Whispers and stares and other laughter filled the cafeteria. Dave stood up quickly and grabbed his empty tray. He hurled it towards the bully.

He missed tremendously.

"You want to mess with me?" Mike yelled, shoving Karofsky into a counter. "Because I don't think you could handle it. Knock it off and know your place, you worthless homo." With a rough shove, Dave's head hit the silverware container. The points of forks and spoons rested against his hair, and he yelped with a helpless sense of need. Mike simply snickered, walking away and hitting his friend's on the arms. "Oh, and by the way," He called behind him. "I had one of the guys put their jock strap in there. I heard you like that type of thing." With an evil smile, the group walked off, leaving Dave in a soupy, shaky, humiliated state of being.

For the second time that week, he ran for the locker room to clean himself up.

A whole new week passed, and yet the old scenarios were still happening. Once, if not three for four times a week, David was harassed.

At least five days a week, eight hours a day, nobody seemed to notice.

He was invisible in a world where he had thought he was on top.

He was a nobody.

He was a victim.

He was tortured.

He was scared.

Dave walked through the door after another harsh day of school to find his dad extending a letter to him. It was addressed in a nice, careful script.

It was from the University of Ohio.

David stared at the envelope, setting his backpack down with a heavy _thump_. His stomach filled with butterflies, and his insides turned to sugar, though somebody bigger than him was slowly pouring water into the sugar mix, slowly dissolving him from the inside out.

This was his chance.

This could be his big break to escape Lima. He would never have to be a Lima Loser again. He could escape his problems here and find a place to start over, a place where he could tell as little or as much personal information as we wanted, a place where he could be _himself_.

This little letter held hopes and dreams for David that he didn't even know he had.

"Well, don't just stand there. Open it!" Paul urged, nodding with a bushy mustache smile.

David felt a smile spread across his face as he dug his thumb roughly under the flaps. He tore the letter open with a crunching noise, his smile growing with excitement. Unfolding the letter, he began to read.

"Dear Mr. David Karofsky—

We regret to inform you that you have not…"

He didn't read any further. His eyebrows crashed into his eyes, igniting a domino effect. His eyes slouched into his nose, his nose into his mouth, his mouth into his chin, his chin into his neck. He crumped into himself like an inverse origami swan.

Dave thrust the letter towards his dad and felt the stupid, hot tears flow down his face.

His chance to finally make something of himself had vanished.

Paul had insisted he take him out to get some ice cream. "Remember when you were just a little tike, David," He began, his eyes gaining a reminiscent gleam as one hand gripped the steering wheel, the other clapping it supportively on Dave's knee. "And we'd go out for ice cream the third Friday of every month?" A smile filled his sad face. Whether or not he realized it, his dreams were Dave's dreams. All he wanted for his son was happiness. "You'd always get the same thing: cookie dough and gummy worms. I remember the first time you got this combination, and you asked me… Do you remember what you asked me?"

David stared out the window, murmuring softly. "Why are the gummy worms so hard?"

"Why are the gummy worms so hard!" Paul exclaimed, laughing softly. A brief silence filled the car, and soon the two were at the ice cream parlor. To David's relief, they were the only customers. As he ordered his ice cream, Paul looked at his choices. "You know, I think I'll have some gummy worms. Two dirt and worm sundaes, please!"

The two men found a seat at the pack of the parlor, settling down with pink plastic spoons a dish filled of sugary relief. Nearly a week had passed since he had asked about going to Dalton Academy. He had heard no final decision. Frankly, he was scared to ask. Working up the courage, he leaned forward to ask his father.

Paul was suddenly reaching in his pocket. He pulled out a cell phone: Dave's cell phone. He opened it and examined the message, smiling before handing it to his son. It was from Blaine Anderson.

"Have your parents made a decision about the concert benefit tomorrow evening? Kurt and I can pick you up before hand and go out to the Sugar Shack or something b4 if that would work. Lemme know. ;)"

Another text vibrated in.

"Kurt just reminded me to tell you that if you can come, dress up in the chocolate tux you bought the other night. This is a formal event."

A final text came in not ten seconds later.

"And he suggests wearing a light blue button down and grey tie. ;)"

"Dad, I was—"

"Yes. " Paul smiled with his eyes, trying to give some of his happiness to his son.

"You and mom talked?" Dave asked, biting the lower corner of his lip. He brought another spoonful of vanilla ice cream and Oreo crumbs to his mouth.

"No. That's why she doesn't know." Paul took another large bite of ice cream to busy himself. David simply nodded, understanding. There were so many thoughts, so many things, that he himself had not told his parents. What was his dad hiding from his mom? And what about the numerous thoughts his mom was hiding from his dad? Did Reverend Arnolds know more than Paul Karofsky?

"I told her you and I are going to the motor cross race." He explained a rushed tone. "I'll drop you off at Breadstix—The Sugar Shack, whatever—and pick you up after the event." David nodded, hardly believing his luck.

And that was the extent of the conversation. Soon, it was onto television, sports teams, and how cool it actually _would be_ to go to the motor cross races.

It was father son time that David Karofsky hadn't realized he'd so desperately missed.

David entered The Sugar Shack in his brown suit. Just as Kurt had suggested, he was wearing a muted baby blue button down and a plain grey tie. His hair was recently trimmed. The suit, plus losing a few pounds from stress, made him look slim and fit.

Kurt told him this as he and Blaine walked hand and hand towards their friend.

It was the first time Dave had felt good about himself in three months.

Casual talk filled the dinner table. Dave refused to depress his friends with talk of his agonizing experiences at Olsen. Instead, they focused on the positives of going to Dalton Academy tonight and, quite possibly, the near future.

Checking his watch, Kurt let out a small shriek. "Boys, boys, come on, we're going to be late if we don't hurry out of here!" He laid a fifty on the table and rushed out of the restaurant, fumbling for his keys in a frenzied panic. Blaine simply smiled at David, walking out of the restaurant with him like a normal person.

Soon they were on their way to Westerville. Blaine and Kurt shared their stories of funny freshman pranks, Warblers rehearsal, and ridiculous professors from their time at Dalton.

It was something that David wanted for himself.

As they entered Dalton Academy School for Boys, David felt a weight lifted off of him.

He knew he wanted to go to school here.

He would find a way to pursue his dreams.

David Karofsky would find a way to transform his hideous situation into one that would lead him into a bright future.

He would just need the help of current friends, and, if he were lucky, friends to come.


End file.
